Disclaimer & author's note: Luna Lovegood and all mentioned characters/settings belong to J.K. Rowling; I just enjoy playing with them. I don't know where this came from, and make of it what you will.

THERE'S A WORD FOR WHAT I'M FEELING, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS

They brought her home.

They had to, because her father didn't come to pick her up; and for the first time someone noticed. They asked her, "Where do you live, dear?" And she said, "Ottery St. Catch-Pole," and they were surprised. "Why, that's right next to us, we can take you home, not a worry!" And she, numb, nodded.

She was going to turn fifteen the next day, but she didn't tell them that. She had the feeling that there would be a silence, -and then a too bright voice saying, "Of course you have to celebrate it, dear! We'll have a party for you." And she knew that they wouldn't want to spend the whole of the next day with her, or celebrate with her, or have a party with her, or do anything at all with her. That they were just being nice. Because sometimes, very rarely and with no ulterior motive, people were nice.

Luna wore her grief on the inside, with dry eyes and serene face, as she knew she had to do. It wasn't her place to scream, or cry, or feel anything except for vague regret that someone good had died. But then, Luna never really did fit into one place; or any place, at all.

They dropped her off outside of her house, unabashedly staring at its exterior. She knew it was odd, a tiny cottage of crumbling stone, scorch-marked and overgrown with weeds. She stood with her trunk by her feet and waved goodbye to them as they drove off. Then she stood to go inside to an empty home, to putter around and eventually sleep.

Some days later, she didn't know how many – she always lost track during the summer hols – Luna said, "Well." The sun was brightly shining and she wandered into her garden, bare foot to feel the earth growing beneath her. There were hardly any flowers blossoming that year, and so she sat among the tall green weeds. "Well," she said, and put her forehead down upon her knees. Her eyes filled up with tears – no one was watching, to tell her she had no right to weep for someone she'd never met – and she cried, just a little.

The world was full of people dying every day.

Every.

Day.

But still Luna stayed out in her garden until the sky dimmed from blue to scarlet to grey; till stars faded into view.